


Time Flies When You're Throwing Watches

by Smylex Corporations (SicIturAdAstra)



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Gen, Internalised Homophobia, Kid Fic, M/M, allusions to molestation, but nothing explicit, but there's a little bit of romance there, one sided feelings, really more like friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 16:39:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SicIturAdAstra/pseuds/Smylex%20Corporations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mac is entirely out of his depth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Flies When You're Throwing Watches

**Author's Note:**

> An attempt to get back into writing. Also, someone needs to be there for Charlie, and I like to think Charlie and Mac sort of relied upon each other as kids.

“Charlie? What are you doing here?”

Mac rubs at his eyes, hearing muffled, tinned laughter mixed with static emit from the old TV in the lounge room, distantly aware that it’s incredibly late. Dad must’ve fallen asleep in his chair again, he hates sitcoms. For the most part, Mac just wants to ignore Charlie and go to sleep; it’s past midnight and he’s supposed to be at school tomorrow and if he skips again, the teacher will call Dad and he’ll get that one look, the disappointed one, the ‘I-expected-more-from-you’ one.

Mac hates that look.

He also hates the look currently on Charlie’s face. Usually, Mac can tell exactly what Charlie is thinking at any given moment, emotions clearly etched into every inch of his face. It falls under irritating rather than endearing generally, but there are exceptions. More exceptions than Mac cares to admit. Now is not one of them.

Instead, Mac is unable to translate whatever emotions are currently affecting Charlie. He thinks its part fear, but all he really gets is stone. It makes Charlie look older, maybe not mature, but older, and that’s slightly disconcerting because Mac _always_ looks older. Old ladies assume he’s showing poor, little Charlie around and protecting him, which yeah, he kind of is, because Charlie has a habit of pissing people off and someone has to take care of him. But even if Charlie is technically older (it’s three months, barely anything), it never _shows._ Charlie does stupid things and can’t read or write and still can’t get past the first level on that Simon Says toy Mac got last Christmas, whereas Mac is badass and gets them out of trouble and already knows how to pickpocket business men without getting caught (if ‘caught’ refers to ‘not yet in juvie’. He’s never actually gotten away with it).

Mac doesn’t feel older right now. He feels young and inexperienced and nervous because this is Charlie, and Charlie is never scared. Even when he should be.

“Can I come in?” It’s barely a whisper, and Mac realises that yeah, he should probably move out of the way and let Charlie climb through the window. There’s barely a sound as he scrambles up and lands with a soft thud within Mac’s house, and that only adds to the eerie feel tonight has; quiet and Charlie are two words that are never associated.

“Yeah, sure, just make sure you don’t wake my Dad up.” The warning really isn’t necessary; Mac knows by this point that even if someone kicked their door down and started firing a machinegun above his head, there isn’t any chance of either his Mum or Dad stirring. The wonders of alcohol. But the silence is disturbing and he wants to get a reaction out of Charlie, anything to make the blankness go away.

They retreat to Mac’s room, subdued, and Mac doesn’t know where to go from here. There have been sleepovers before, but they’d always been filled with laughter and fun, staying up as late as possible before falling asleep half tangled together, neither one willing to take the floor and instead sharing the bed. Mac always complains – Charlie’s a pain to sleep next to, he tosses and turns and no matter how many times Mac tells Charlie to stay on his side, they always wake up in a mess of limbs – but really, he… sort of likes it. It’s comforting to know that Charlie likes him enough that he doesn’t mind sharing a bed.

This is different though. There’s no laughter or fun, and Mac isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do. A part of him just wants to offer Charlie the bed and take the floor for once, because whatever happened, Charlie isn’t dealing with it well and it might be best to just leave him alone. Another, more louder part, says to just lie down in his bed and go to sleep, because its late and it’s _his bed_ and whatever emergency Charlie’s having can’t be that important, since all he’s doing is standing there.

The indecision is roaring in his ears, so loud that he almost misses what Charlie says. “I… I can stay here, right? Just for tonight, I mean, I can’t use my room and I just-“

“Yeah buddy, of course you can.” Mac ignores his indecision. He’ll get in bed and leave the choice up to Charlie. Therefore, whatever happens, it’s not Mac’s fault.

With that decided, Mac climbs back under the threadbare blanket, nowhere near thick enough to keep just Mac warm and certainly not enough for two people, but he leaves the covers slightly open anyway. It’s an invitation, because he’s not heartless and he’s not just going to let Charlie into his house just to watch him freeze.

He’s joined within seconds, the confines of the narrow bed forcing them close. Charlie doesn’t really have problems with indecision. For a second, Mac wishes he had Charlie’s simplistic worldview. You either do things or you don’t, and there’s no real in between. Instead, Mac is currently deliberating whether he should ask Charlie about why he can’t use his own room. He doesn’t know whether Charlie wants to talk about it or not, this situation entirely new.

Charlie must sense or realise his confusion on some level, and under any other circumstance, Mac would marvel at the unusual display of perception. But then, tonight’s been nothing but unusual. “There’s not- It’s just-“ Charlie makes several aborted whispers, and just squeezes his eyes shut. Mac doesn’t press like he typically would, concerned about the broken edge to his friend’s voice. “My uncle’s staying in my room, and he just- he just makes me uncomfortable. Can we not talk about it?” Mac nods, unsure if Charlie sees him or not in the darkness, and feels the need to comfort his friend in some way, however small.

He doesn’t think about it, just does, takes a page from Charlie’s notebook (not literally, that stuff is impossible to read) and grasps Charlie’s hand under the covers. He pretends not to notice Charlie sniffling, or how he briefly squeeze’s Mac’s hand back. Eventually, they fall asleep, still holding hands.

They don’t talk about it in the morning. Charlie seems to have forgotten, back to smiles and simple emotion. Neither of Mac’s parents question the smaller boy’s presence, and Mac’s not entirely sure they even notice an extra kid in the house. Within a few days, the whole thing has slipped from Mac’s mind. Sometimes, he drifts back to that moment, the solid feeling of Charlie’s hand in his and he wants to feel that again, that simple happiness. Something untainted. Something that he can’t replicate, no matter how many years pass or how hard he tries to replicate Dennis, because Dennis says things that make sense but not in relation to Charlie. He talks about girls and sex and Mac tries, it’s fun for a while, but there’s always that _edge_ , something he isn’t supposed to talk about.

He wants from Charlie what Dennis wants from girls. He wants to try something that goes against everything he believes. He doesn’t though. He holds himself back because that’s what’s natural, because of the laws and restrictions that life likes to place upon its people. He pushes everything to the back of his mind, ignores it and pretends it isn't there.

Mac never really forgets though.


End file.
